Chance encounter on the road to nowhere
by CertifiedGeek
Summary: Set directly after the Doctor's regeneration from 8 to 9 this was written before "The Day of the Doctor" was aired. The Doctor is ejected from the crashing TARDIS and meets a young man who is also lost and alone. Angsty, written in 2nd person for an experiment, originally published on another site. Edited and re-posted here to add to my collection. Complete


It's four o'clock in the morning and you've been driving for hours. Part of you thinks you're running away but most of you knows you are doing what's right. The bruises on your ribs ache in affirmation. You've checked the rear view mirror a thousand times since you tore out of the car park leaving rubber on the tarmac. The sounds of his fists battering the bonnet still reverberate in your ears and the cold sweats have not abated making your hands slip on the thin steering wheel. It's four o'clock in the morning and you are miles from anywhere.

You check the mirror again catching sight of blue eyes that are red from crying and pale white skin that is turning blue on the left cheek bone. Below that the signs of stubble are pushing through. You look a mess. Its early January 2004, everything you own is in the boot of a 20 year old white, rusty, Ford Fiesta and you're driving down some crazy country road in the pouring rain listening to a mix tape that you stole from your sister's room the day your father kicked you out of his house. Its four o'clock in the morning, you're miles from anywhere and you've nowhere to go.

There is a storm raging outside. A gust of wind pushes the car sideways for a second and bright blue light flashes through the dark sky. You swerve back onto your side of the road and watch the strange lightening bounce across the sky before vanishing upwards. Attention diverted, the front wheel hits a pothole and you narrowly miss landing in the hedge. You curse and before you know it your face is wet again. You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket clearing them in time to see your headlights shining into the face of a man. A man stood in the middle of the road. Your right foot slams on the break pedal and you skid to a halt with the nose of the car brushing the stranger's velvet coat tails.

Neither of you move for a long moment. He does not seem to see you at all. He is tall, well built, with dark short cropped hair exposing large ears, but it is his clothes that draw your attention. At some point in the evening before he must have been exquisitely dressed, fine velvet coat covering a heavily embroidered waistcoat, a dated but immaculate neck-tie and a precisely pressed shirt all of which appear scorched and strangely at least two size too small for him. He doesn't seem to notice the car, you, or the icy rain that is pouring down his curiously hardened angular features. His stare goes straight through you to some point a million miles away. He looks like the loneliest man in the world.

Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt clip and you stumble out of the car realising that your legs have turned to jelly.

"Hey, mate, I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Are you all right?"

He doesn't respond, still staring at the same invisible spot. Despite the cold you can not see his breath in the air. Is he breathing at all? You close the car door and hesitantly stagger round towards him, icy puddles of water cover the road and seep through your trainers.

"Hey, mate. Are you okay?"

His head snaps round in your direction and he looks at you with piercing eyes.

"Where am I?"

You shrug. "I don't know. I'm sort of lost. Are you okay? That was pretty close."

"Not close enough."

His voice is northern and so thick with emotion that you almost question if you heard him right. There's an awkward pause and you become aware that the rain pinging on the metal body of the car has become harder and louder. Hail stings your face. You look down the road for another vehicle or a house. He must have come from somewhere but there's nothing as far as you can see.

"Where are you from?"

His gaze reluctantly returns to you. "Nowhere."

"Where are you going then?"

"Nowhere to go."

Empathy runs through you. "Me either."

He is looking right at you now, searching your eyes with his. You're not sure that he finds what he's looking for as you break away and walk round him to open the passenger door.

"Come on, get in. We'll both catch our deaths out here."

He doesn't respond and you move to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinches visibly and roughly shoves you away stumbling as he does so and landing on his knees on the wet street. He could be crying, you're not sure, but his voice is ragged as he shouts into the night.

"Leave me alone!"

You're not sure if he is talking to you or the whole world. Either way it doesn't matter. His head is hanging, chin against his chest and his shoulders heave as he draws deep breaths to control whatever emotions are consuming him. You can't stay there for the rest of the night and you certainly can't leave anyone, stranger or not, at the side of the road. He doesn't seem to be aware of you at all as you crouch beside him and haul him upright wincing at the pain in your own chest as you shove him into the passenger seat of the car.

You drive through dawn following road signs to towns you have never heard of in a general southerly direction. Something is pulling you towards the place that you grew up. Around seven thirty you pull up at a roadside café. Neither of you has spoken since you got back into the car. He follows you into the grey port-a-cabin without a word but when you push a yellow mug of tea into his hands he looks up and thanks you.

"I hope you take sugar," you say with a half smile, "I thought you could use some."

He sips the steaming liquid tentatively, as though he's never tasted tea before in his life.

"It's fine. Thanks."

"I'm Dean, if you're interested."

"Hello Dean."

You're not sure if you've ever met a man so difficult to talk to.

"What's your name?"

He looks away again. "It doesn't matter."

You hold back a sigh and try again.

"I can't just keep calling you 'mate'."

He doesn't speak for a while and you stare out of the window absently stroking the stubble that is now prominent on your chin. The rain has subsided to leave a grey morning sky, the kind of monotonous blanket of grey cloud that, once set in, remains for weeks without relenting. Other cars pass by frequently now but in the café they were alone except for the proprietor who is listening to the radio in the kitchen. Without thinking you catch the bruise on your cheek and wince slightly. He notices and looks at you with something approaching concern.

"That'll heal in a couple of days."

"How would you know?" Fatigue has caught up with you and your response shoots back more acidly than you intended.

"I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor? You make it sound like you're the only one."

His face darkens again. "I am."

"Right," you say, weariness and disbelief evident in your tone.

The Doctor sits up a little straighter, struggling against the tight clothes. You can see his face clearly now, his brow furrowed, eyes deep set and though blue in colour they seem to hold all the darkness in the world. They are lifeless eyes; the kind you've only ever seen on the television in famine victims or war refugees. He unfastens the collar of his shirt and removes the neck tie with funereal reverence. In daylight you can see that his clothes are caked with dust. The once beautiful jacket was more burnt than whole and the waistcoat was split at the seams. The Doctor looked as though he wore another man's clothes entirely; even the trousers appeared to cut in too closely at the crotch and were an inch too short. You study him as you eat breakfast, neither of you making much headway with the greasy fry-up.

"What's your story?" He pokes fried bread around his plate making patterns in the runny egg yolk.

You shrug and feign nonchalance. "Who says I've got one?"

"The ribs you've been holding since we sat down and the car full of belongings for a start."

He is watching you now, harsh eyes mellowed slightly.

"It was just time to move on," you say at first, and then something pushes more words out. "My partner was... aggressive. So I moved out. Last night. I meant to be gone before he got back but I didn't quite make it."

He nods, non judgemental. "Where are you going?"

"London, I guess. Anywhere really, I just got in the car and drove. I've nowhere to go. Lost all my friends when I moved in with him and my dad doesn't approve of my lifestyle."You shake your head to clear your thoughts and focus on remaining as impassive as possible. "What about you? What's your story?"

He's avoiding you again. "Who says I've got one?"

"You were stood in the middle of a country road at four in the morning in flame grilled clothes."

"Touché."

He sits back and seems to have clammed up again. Something makes you keep the silence and after a moment he speaks again.

"I lost control of my vehicle, got flung out when the door opened. Woke up on the road looking like this."

"What happened to your car?"

The Doctor isn't looking at you as he gives an non-committal shrug and says, "I dunno. Maybe joy riders."

You don't believe him but consider the options and decide not to press the subject. The surreality of the situation is becoming overwhelming. You are a homeless 24 year old lad with a car full of belongings, sat in a café in the middle of nowhere with a fancy dress wearing stranger who won't tell you his name, driving to a city you haven't lived in in 3 years.

You find these words are not in your head at all but are falling out of your mouth in domino fashion.

"...I mean I've no idea who you are. You could be a mass murderer and I'm driving you across the country with Jack the Ripper!"

You shut your mouth quickly and stare at him. The Doctor doesn't appear phased by your outburst at all. Instead he drinks the last of his tea and gets up from the table.

"I'm not Jack the Ripper."

You wonder why he didn't deny the mass murder part too. You realise that you are following him to the car and he opens the door without you turning the key although you are sure you locked it earlier. You watch him struggle to bend and, remembering your clothes on the back seat, rifle through your belongings until you find a sweater that looks about the right size. You offer it hesitantly and he accepts with gratitude. The jacket is too tight for him to remove on his own and you help peel off the layers of damp clothing. Beneath the fine white shirt his hairless chest is mottled with deep bruises which are matched on his shoulders and arms. The Doctor says nothing and makes no indication that he is in any pain. You avert your eyes, the temptation to question him on the cause of the marks burning on your tongue. From the corner of your eye you see his shoulders relax minutely, relieved to be spared the inquisition.

"Why are you doing this?" the Doctor asks after you have been driving for a while. "You're right, I could be a mass murderer."

The road sign say London 106 miles.

You glance in his direction and are unsure if he is joking.

"I guess that's the kind of guy I am."

A forced grin crosses his face. "Save the world type are you?"

"Maybe," you say, "I've never really thought about it."

"Well, thanks. For picking me up and stuff."

The Doctor appears a little sheepish and you tell him he's welcome.

"What will you do when you get to London?"

You ponder for a moment. "I don't know. My mum's been gone a long time and my sister lives with my dad. I don't suppose he'll let me in."

"You should try." the Doctor's voice is insistent. "Family's important. You never know how important until it's too late."

"He's an idiot."

The Doctor frowns. "Of course he is, he's your father. Doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."

That was true you suppose. He had called once but Paul had answered the phone and had told him to leave you alone using words of one syllable. At the time you thought Paul was protecting you, now you're not so sure.

"We both said some pretty terrible things." You admit this ashamedly and focus your eyes on the road ahead.

"Your human, its expected."

There is something in his tone that makes you feel that he isn't part of the human race at all.

"What about you? If I do go to my Dad's there's no way he's letting me in with a boyfriend in tow. And that's what he's going to think you are."

He snorts. "I've got to find my vehicle. My whole universe is inside that thing."

"Sounds familiar." You give him an encouraging smile. "How are you going to do that?"

Miraculously, from the pocket of his too tight trousers, he produces a pen shaped device which rapidly flashes blue on the top. He is staring at it with a degree of concern but relaxes when the light steadies to a regular pattern.

"Tracking device. Looks like she's landed in London. Must have been drawn to the power source. Bit odd though, not been there in years. Still, I suppose it's as good a place as any to get lost in the crowd."

You raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Landed? What are you driving? A rocket?"

"Sort of, yeah."

You shake your head. "What are you, some kind of alien?"

"Some kind of."

"Riiight." You pause. "You didn't escape from some institution did you? A place with padded cells and locked doors?"

"Not lately." The Doctor grins at you with a flash of real humour.

"I'm strangely not comforted by that."

His grin widens. "Run for your life!"

You laugh and he seems pleased. There is silence again but not an awkward one this time. He seems to be thawing out and despite his continued lack of name and initial coldness you are enjoying his company.

You leave suburbia and turn into busy London streets. The blue flash of the tracking device has become brighter and you are sure you can hear a faint beep emanating from it. You talkabout your home, your family. Tell him about Paul and how you thought you loved him and always believed he would change. The Doctor asksfew questions, just listens. He seems good at that. You speak about your Dad, all the great stuff you did together before you brought home your first boyfriend at 19. You tell him about the arguments and how your sister cried every night begging the two of you to see sense.

"You should go home." The Doctor's words are heavy. "Give your father another try. If you don't you might regret it some day."

You think he speaks from experience. You ask him about his family and he remains illusive.

"I don't have any. Not any more."

You tell him you're sorry but he doesn't seem to hear you.

The Doctor asks you about your dreams and at first you shrug off the question. What was the point in dreaming when everything ends in tatters? But he pushes the right buttons and you find you're telling him that you want to make a difference. You want to change the world, not all of it, but you want to make a difference to people's lives. He says that's 'fantastic' and beams as though the weight of the universe had been lifted from his shoulders somehow.

"It's always about the little people," he says knowingly. "They are the most important people in the whole universe. Change one life and you change the world Dean, my boy."

You smile, confused but pleased with his enthusiasm.

He asks you to pull over at the corner of a small park and gestures to an old Police Call Box across the road.

"This is my stop," he says, his face darkening again.

"Will you be all right?" you ask, watching the shadows spread across his troubled face once more. "It doesn't seem right, just leaving you here."

He gets out of the car and looks back in through the open window. There is a small, determined, smile on his face.

"I'm always all right. Besides, my rockets over there. I've got to sort out my belongings, see how much of my life is left inside."

You accept his bravado because there is nothing else you can do.

"Good luck then." You offer your hand to him across the passenger seat.

"You too." He takes your hand and holds it for a moment as though you are the last man on earth. "Thanks, Dean, for everything. You're fantastic. Really fantastic. Now…go change the world!"

You watch him walk away. He crosses the street and stands beside the battered old police box. Turning, he waves goodbye and waits until you are almost out of view before stepping inside. For a second you think you see a golden glow pushing its way out of the box, but you turn the corner and he is lost from view.

Pulling up outside your father's house you feel your stomach tie in knots. You turn off the engine and stare at the red painted front door which is worn down by the elements. You can see through the living room window from across the road and as you watch the house in trepidation you realise someone is watching you from inside.

Suddenly the front door flies open and your father steps out. He doesn't pause and hurtles down the stone steps arms outstretched calling your name. He is crying and smiling at the same time and you tumble out of the car to run towards him.

A police car, sirens blazing, hurtles down the street.

You shout a warning but he doesn't hear you.

"Dad!"

The world turns into slow motion as you run knowing your father has not seen the car and that you cannot reach him in time.

A man in a brown pin stripped suit is running down the steps behind your father. You watch as he reaches your dad and pulls him away from the road as the police car flies passed.

You reach your father a second later and he gathers you into his arms. The skinny man in the pin stripped suit looks you both up and down and pats you both on the back.

"That was pretty close."

You stare at him, relieved and grateful.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. You saved my dad."

He grins widely and slaps your back. "One good turn deserves another."

You frown, confused. "I don't think we've met..."

"Be fantastic, Dean, my boy," he says with flourish and spins on his heel.

Your father hugs you again and when you look up the man is gone. Your father wraps his arm around your shoulders leading you into his house. As you turn to close the front door you see an old, battered, blue police call box disappearing into nothingness on the corner of the street.


End file.
